


Gonna Need A Rain Check

by justanotherloneranger



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:03:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherloneranger/pseuds/justanotherloneranger
Summary: Light again. Roaring. (“Quickly, get him in the chopper! Careful!”)  Weightlessness.The soldier drifts.(Who am I?)





	Gonna Need A Rain Check

Light.  


Noise.

 

(Who am I?)

 

Cold. 

Burning heat. Distant voices, clinical, reverent, shocked, panicked. 

 

(Where? What’s happening?)

 

Blinding pain – proof of life – spikes until…

…nothing.

 

(A whimper.)

 

(Who am I?)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A far-off light. A soft comforting voice. The long-forgotten scent of warm cinnamon, comfort, home. 

(Why did I forget? Who am I?)

Long blonde hair, soft blue eyes framed by soft wrinkles (Your wrinkles don’t make you old, Mamaí! They make you dignified!)

 

(…Mamaí?)

 

A warm meal lying forgotten on the kitchen table, soothing hands gently probing at the purple bruise blossoming around strikingly defiant azure eyes, so similar to her own. A hushed, “Oh Steven…” Sympathetic pain reflected in the matronly baby blues, a cup of cocoa placed in young bandaged hands. “Baby, why do you keep doing this?” (I had to, Mamaí, I had to! They were going to steal her lunch money!) A deep sigh. Softly, “One day, I’m afraid you won’t come back.” (Don’t worry about me, Mamaí! I’ll grow strong to protect you – you’ll see!) 

 

(Mamaí?)

 

(Mamaí!)

 

A single letter. Pointless words. Deepest condolences – Influenza – passed away – nothing doctors could do – gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. The words blur. Pounding feet. Tears streaming in the wind. Ten laps, fifty, one hundred. A beautiful sunny day when the world should be ending. “Hey, ‘Cap’! The show’s about to start! Come on in and suit up!” (A wordless snarl. They don’t get it. They never did.)

 

(Mamaí.)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Light again. Roaring. (“Quickly, get him in the chopper! Careful!”) Weightlessness. 

The soldier drifts.

 

(Who am I?)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” A deep voice teases. A new black eye mirrored on his companion’s face. A rough hand ruffles dirty blond hair. An exasperated, fond mumble around a swollen cheek, “Squirt.” 

 

(I know you.)

 

An upbeat song plays. The sound of feet falling in rhythm fills the gym. A handsome grin flanked by two blond beauties. A rogue wink towards the (mostly) isolated corner. A flippant, “Sorry ladies, not tonight. I’ve already promised this evening to someone else!” Footsteps approach his hiding place. Two strong hands grasp a frail waist, easily hoisting the protesting (laughing) body over a broad shoulder. “Squirt here has me reserved!”

The timber voice guiding clumsy feet through complicated swing moves. Teasing, “Come on, Squirt! You can get this! I don’t want to dance like a girl any more than I have to – and stop stepping on my toes!” 

The faint music fades away.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Voices call, 1, 2, 3, up! Abrupt movement. Blinding lights dimmed by sudden stabbing pain.

(Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe! Can’t -)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

That old familiar deep voice, now soft and crooning. “Alright, it’s alright. Just breathe for me, Steve, just breathe. Come on, deep breaths. Breathe with me. That’s right. Just breathe.” A normally sturdy hand, now shaky in a rare show of nerves, cards through damp golden hair. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

(“Sir! The captain isn’t breathing! We’re losing him! Sir!”)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The attack subsides. The golden head is pillowed on a larger lap. Just before the darkness falls, a broken laugh cuts through the silence. “Asthma. The one bully I can’t protect you from.” Then a croon, “Sleep, Steve. I’ve got you.”

 

(Steve?)

 

(Am I…?)

 

(Is that –)

 

(…me?)

 

The once strong voice, now cruelly reduced to a ragged croak. “Steve?” A harsh cough rattles the unnaturally thin body. (A vow. I’ll never let you get hurt like this again. Never again.) 

A pale face on an even paler sheet. Dark lashes finally open. A thin voice, once so strong, “Aw, come on Squirt. You’ll make me all self-conscious, staring like that.” A hitched breath, followed by a sculpted body (finally no longer just for show) flung into the frail waiting arms. A weak, laughing grunt. “Well gosh, Squirt. I missed you too.” A mockingly accusatory glare. “Though I seem to remember your nickname actually fitting the last time I saw you.” A half-strangled sob masked as a laugh escapes. The bandages grow damp around the golden head burrowed into the healing chest. A whimper. (I’m so sorry… Bucky.)

 

(…Bucky?)

 

A speeding train. A mission gone wrong. Bullets fly everywhere. One mistimed second. One missed hand. One deadly mistake. Wide panicked eyes slowly fall down, down, down… A frantic, horrified scream. (BUCKY!)

 

(BUCKY!)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The world turns soft. 

Dark. 

Silent. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Captain Rogers?” The young, melodious, oh-so-beautiful voice echoes. No reply. Once again, this time softer, “Steve?” The red hat is removed, laid down on the rock next to the two figures. A hand cautiously touches a trembling shoulder. “Oh, Steve.” 

 

(…Mamaí? No. Then …who?)

 

The blue-coated figure mournfully shakes her head, curly brown locks bouncing slowly. “You never got the chance to mourn, did you? For your mother? And now for Bucky.” The shoulder flinches. Still softer yet, the voice continues, “It wasn’t your fault, Steve. You tried your best. He – they wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself like this. You know that.” (Grunt). “Come on, soldier. You can get through this. They’d want you to.” A deep, shuddering breath. A soft hug, so swift it was almost imagined. “That’s right, Steve. It’ll get better.”

 

(No, it won’t.)

Cold blue eyes harden. Resolve. (I’ll destroy them.)

(I’ll destroy them all.)

 

(It didn’t get better.)

 

(Did you lie?)

(Why, Peggy?)

 

(Peggy.)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rushing. Panic. Plane engines roar.

Euphoric success quickly overshadowed by dawning realization and horror. (Peggy. I gotta put her in the water.) A choked sob muted by the static of the radio. The vision of a promised dance floats for a few tantalizing moments, then fades. (I’m gonna need a rain check). The water and ice loom. Muscles involuntarily brace. The forced calm finally slips. Terror grips for one horrible moment. (Impact.) (Cold.)

 

(Cold.)

 

Terror makes way for a strange peace. Acceptance. A heart-breakingly sweet upturned twitch of pale lips flashes for just a second. (Mamaí. Bucky. Peggy. I love you.)

(I love you.)

(I love…)

(I…)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

(Blinding pain – proof of life – spikes until…)

 

(…nothing.)

 

(A whimper.)

 

(I know who I am.)

 

 

(And I hate it.)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A tear, finally unfrozen after seventy years, falls unto freshly pressed sheets as the echo of a ballgame out of its time plays softly on the radio.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: Mamaí is the Irish word for Mama


End file.
